Unrequited: Gilraen
by HardlyFatal
Summary: A young widow burns for what can never be hers. COMPLETE


Author's Note: Angst ahoy! And a sad ending, too. This story's one big festival of gloom. Hope you like it.

One line in particular (about Hope and the Dúnedain) was lifted from _The Lord of the Rings_ Appendix A I (iv) _A Part of the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen_.

The Unrequited Series: Gilraen

By CinnamonGrrl

Is it wrong for me to love one so far above me? One who has helped me, guarded me, provided for me? One who took me in when I arrived, terrified, with a tiny child and nothing else? One who has counseled me, comforted me, healed me body and soul? For I am Gilraen, widow of Arathorn and mother of Aragorn, and I love Elrond Half-elven, even though it is a hopeless and desperate love. 

When I first arrived at Imladris, Aragorn's sleeping body a heavy weight in my arms, all faces were a blur until I saw Elrond. Tall, with hair of ebony and eyes like the brightest stars, he was handsome as a young god. It was the kindness on his face that was my undoing; ever was I accustomed to the remote distance of the Dúnedain. Their coldness had begun to freeze me, but one glance from Elrond's eyes of warm silver, and I kindled like paper. I looked upon him, and loved him.

The past week had been a confusing misery. I had not loved Arathorn, but he had been a fine husband and ours was a good marriage. I had never regretted my decision to wed him, until the moment I laid eyes upon the Peredhel. My mind was overtaxed with the implications of Arathorn's death, and my heart, wrenched by misery and care, could not bear the addition of a lightning-strike of ardor as well. I felt my son slip from my grasp as consciousness faded. 

I awoke to find myself in the arms of Elrond himself, being carried toward some distant room to recover, and would have swooned a second time were I not already aloft. I fear, then, that I shamed myself profoundly, for as if watching from a great distance, I saw my arms creep around his neck, and heard my voice whisper to him, words of devotion and desire that should never have been conceived, let alone expressed.

He said nothing, even when I pressed my lips to his warm throat and tasted the smooth skin there. Nor did he speak when I threaded my fingers through his hair, when I twisted against him to feel the hard wall of his chest against my breasts. He hissed once, when my hand brushed against the delicate point of his ear, but it was quickly stifled and once more he fell silent, ignoring me as best he could.

Elrond kicked open the door to my new chamber with somewhat more force than was strictly necessary, but his actions were infinitely gentle as he lay me on the bed. I stared up at him, brushing aside a stray strand of hair and knowing my eyes smoldered with want as I gazed upon his fair form. Accustomed as I was to the long-lived Dúnedain, still it was amazing to think that this elf before me, who appeared no older than I at four and twenty, could be over six thousand years of age.

"Please," I said, wanting to touch him again, wanting to feel him pressed to me once more. "Please, I love you." I began to unlace the front of my gown, wanting to offer myself to him, to bare myself for him. "Please."

He touched me once more, but not as I had wanted. He stilled my hands, preventing the lace from sliding through another grommet. Leaning over me caused his hair to slip over his shoulders and cascade onto my chest, and I wrenched my hands from his grasp to take up fistfuls of it. It was cool and silky, and I brought one handful to my lips whilst pressing the other to whatever of my flesh I had managed to bare.

"I want you so," I murmured, my voice hoarse, and kissed the lock of hair I still held to my face. "Please, take me. Fill me." Pain and sadness threatened to overcome me, and I felt tears fill my eyes, blurring the sight of him. "Fill me with yourself."

But Elrond disentangled his hair from my clutching fingers and stepped back. No candles had yet been lit, and no fire burnt in the grate, so the room was draped in shadows where the moonlight did not touch. His face, half-hidden in the gloom, was inscrutable, and I felt humiliation begin to burn away my lust. Now clumsy with embarrassment, my hands fumbled as I tried to lace my gown together once more, and tears slipped down my shame-scalded face.

Then his hands were there again, brushing mine away to finish the job. I lay back and gave voice to my sobs, shuddering as I wept, unheeding of how I was drenching my hair as the tears ran past my temples. As he ministered to me, I knew that there was no hope for me with him, and another pain grew in my heart to sit beside the one I carried for my poor husband, mourned but unloved.

Nimbly tying the lace in a tidy knot, Elrond straightened again and surveyed me. "Well I understand grief, Lady Gilraen," he told me, the first words he had ever spoken to me. "I have borne much of my own. And I have felt the gnawing anguish and fear of losing one who was loved dearly. Even now do I feel keenly the loneliness of being without my mate, that you now feel." He paused a moment, and the compassion glowing on his face would have undone me, were I not already undone. "But it is not for me to replace he who you have lost, though it might bring you comfort for a short while."

"No," I croaked, feeling strangled by my thick throat. "You misunderstand; I grieve for my husband, yes, because he was a fine man, and our people will sorely feel his loss. But do not mistake what I have said as mere grief, for it is not." I sat up, tucking my tear-damp hair behind my ears and looking up at him earnestly, needing him to understand and believe me, for I feared this would be the only time I would have to speak to him of this. I stood, and took a tentative step toward him. "Hear me, Lord of Imladris. I have never loved another, never wanted another, as I love and want you. If it is possible to love at first sight, I have done it, for from my first sight of you, it was clear that there is none other for me, not before, and never again."

Elrond raised his hand and placed it along my face. It was warm, and the blessed power of the Eldar pulsed against me. I closed my eyes, searing the feel of his warmth and proximity into my memory. "You honour me," he said, a strange note to his voice, and my eyes flew open in time to see his face approach. He kissed me then, chastely and with closed lips, more an act of benediction than passion. Pulling back, he smiled faintly. "But it is an honour I cannot return, for I am wed already."

I knew this, just as I knew his wife had sailed west almost four hundred years previously, but it was the death-knell of the tremulous and stubborn hopes that had taken root within me. Looking up into his starlit eyes, I saw the flicker of loneliness and longing within them, and felt pain on his behalf as well as anger at his wife. How could she leave him? How could she condemn him to a life of solitude? How could she deny him the comfort of her presence?

"Do not hate her," he told me, correctly reading my expression. "She was ill-used, and would have died from sorrow had she not left. Even so, I will not betray her. We will once again find each other, in this age or the next." 

I covered his hand on my face with my own, pressing it hard against me, feeling the tendons and fine bones beneath his skin, and tried to stifle the resentment I felt at the elleth who had had what I so dearly and desperately wanted, and thrown it away. Gently, he disengaged himself from my grasp and stepped back. "My sons have taken Aragorn, and will tend him this night. Your belongings shall be brought to you." I blinked, feeling this determinedly normal intercourse as shockingly as a dash of cold water against me. "Is there aught else you require?"

"No," I replied faintly, groping for the bed behind me once more as I felt fatigue begin to overcome me. "No, I need aught but you."

"That is the only thing I cannot give you," Elrond replied sadly. "Sleep now," he said, a soothing cadence to his voice that had not been there before, and I curled up on the bed against my will, lowering my head to the pillow and feeling my traitorous eyes closing though I would have preferred to keep them fixed upon him. "Sleep now."

The next morning brought a new sense of perspective. My love for Elrond burned just as hotly as the night before, but it was joined by a fierce sense of humiliation and horror for my actions, and I resolved to never leave the room again. 

However, when one has a small child, resolutions mean little. Aragorn refused to eat breakfast without me there, and I reluctantly followed Elrohir down to the dining hall. In spite of my embarrassment and, yes, my sorrow over Arathorn's passing, the sight of my son with tiny arms crossed over his chest, resolute in his determination to fast until I arrived, brought a smile to my face. The determined jut of his chin reminded me strongly of Arathorn just then, and in response to his innocent query of, "Mama, porridge?" I snatched him up and wept all over his curly head. 

It wasn't until I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to find Elrond beside me that I realized one of the twins had gone to fetch their father. To my horror, I began to babble something about getting a speck in my eye and tried to exit the hall with as much speed as long skirts and a wriggling, porridge-smeared child would permit, but soon found Aragorn plucked from my grasp and Elrond grasping my arms and marching me toward a chair.

Sucking in a breath, I wiped at my eyes and found that the twins had disappeared once more with my son, leaving me alone with Elrond. This morning he wore a long tunic of emerald velvet that emphasized the lean power of his frame, and a bolt of longing shot through me. "Oh, let me go," I moaned, looking past him for the closest exit.

But he would not release me, and looked ready to spring in front of whichever door I made for. "How will you live here, if you cannot remain in my presence?" he asked, and there was a hint of humour in his tone that made my cheeks burn.

"**Will** I live here?" I asked, somewhat nastily. "How can I stay, knowing what I said to you last night? What I did?"

"What you **tried** to do," he corrected. "And you must stay, for your safety, and the safety of your son. Should he perish without issue, there will be no heir to reclaim Elendil's throne."

"Is that so important?" I asked, impassioned. Though I was of the Dúnedain myself, though I had the same blood, however thinned, that coursed through Elrond's very veins, never had I understood the necessity of reclaiming the realms of Gondor and Arnor.

"Yes," he replied simply, the full conviction of millennia in his single word, and my shoulders slumped in resignation. 

"Then… perhaps I should leave Aragorn here with you." I could not think of how I could possibly survive, seeing Elrond each day. My chest ached as if burdened by the weight of a mountain.

"Indeed not," he said immediately. "He has just lost his father; would you also deny him his mother?" 

Shame, now more familiar a sentiment to me than I would have preferred, filled me. "No," I whispered. "It just… hurts so much."

The disapproval on his face melted into comprehension and sympathy. "I am sorry for that," he replied, taking up one of my hands in both of his and pressing it briefly, wanting to bring comfort until he saw how it affected me, and dropped it just as quickly. "I am sorry," he repeated. "But it is a pain you must learn to endure." The kindness of his tone gentled the harshness of the words. "You must think of your son, and his importance to two nations of Men. There is more to consider than the concerns of a single heart."

I flinched at his wording; he had not meant to reinforce the fact that he remained unaffected by me, but there it was, nonetheless. "Yes," I agreed, feeling the sharp tang of bitterness flood me. "Of what importance is a single heart?"

Elrond tried to speak to me more, to ease that bitterness, but I was done with feeling humiliated by my feelings for him, and how they had brought me naught but embarrassment. I was the widow of a Dúnedain chieftain, and descended from a dozen more. Scraping together whatever bits of pride were left to me, I help up a hand, halting his words.

"There is naught you can do now, Lord Half-elven. I have laid bare my soul; you have rejected me. There is nothing else for me but spend the rest of my life, hidden amongst a foreign people, and raise my son to be the saviour of Men." I smoothed my porridge-smeared skirts with trembling fingers. "It is a destiny that cannot be delayed any longer." And I left him standing there, head held high and gaze straight before me, even as I wanted to sink to the ground at his feet, to cling to his knees and beg him to love me in return.

~ * ~

I tried to keep away from him as much as I could in the ensuing years. It was not hard; he was a busy elf-lord, and ever occupied with matters of import and family, and I was concerned with raising Aragorn as best I could, the only two Men in all of Imladris.

To better hide his identity, I called my son Estel, for he was all there was of Hope in the world, for me. At Elrond's request, I kept even his all-important heritage a secret. Estel grew into a strong young man, happy with his foster family as well as with me, and I recognized how correct Elrond had been to insist I stay, even as I resented that there had been no respite for me from the sight of him, the ever-present reminder of what could never be fulfilled. Still, it was a shock when Estel came to me one day, his handsome face so like his father's and flushed with heady emotion.

"I have fallen in love," he declared, "But I must make my way in the world before I may have her." 

And he left, just like that. Left Imladris, his home for over a score of years; left me, his mother, alone without him. He, who had been my reason to continue living when all else was gone. Estel, my Hope, had with his leaving extinguished any shred of it that was left to me. 

There was nothing for me in Elrond's haven, and my decision was swiftly reached. He was not surprised to find me at his study door the day after Estel had gone. "I thank you for all you have done for us, my lord," I told him carefully. "But I am no longer needed here; Estel is a man now, and I shall return to my people. Will you spare me a few of your soldiers as escort?"

He stood and came toward me, stopping only when he was but a foot away. Time, as ever, had stopped for him, and his was still the face of youth whilst mine had aged. I was now over fifty years of age, and though my people age but half as quickly as other Men, was clearly not in the same fresh bloom as when I had first come to Imladris. Seeing him in all his perfect glory made tears threaten, and I clenched my jaw to keep them at bay. My love for him had not faded over the decades, not even the smallest bit.

"Has it been so terrible for you here, Gilraen?" he asked me softly, and hearing his melodic voice say my name caused almost physical pain for me. "Have you not found friends among us?"

"There is but one I would have to friend, my lord," I told him evenly, feeling bold now that I was leaving, "and he would not have me." 

Elrond gazed at me in astonishment as he realized what I had said. "I had thought that but a passing fancy, brought on by grief," he said wonderingly, and brought his hand to my face again as he had all those years ago. "Dear Gilraen, I have done you a disservice."

"No," I contradicted, covering his hand with my own in an echo of the same. "You could not have known."

"I could have believed you," Elrond replied, sadness tingeing his silver eyes with regret. "I ought not to have underestimated a daughter of the Dúnedain." 

"You did what you felt was wisest," I told him, wanting to erase that sadness from him. It felt odd, for once being the comforter instead of the comforted. "It is all any of us can do."

He smiled faintly. "You have become wise, Gilraen," he told me. "But still I see that spark of impetuosity." Elrond tilted his head to one side, the hair that remained black as night in slight contrast to the few strands of white that began to thread their way through my own dark locks. "You are sure you will leave? 'Tis a decision too quickly reached, I feel."

I, too, smiled. It was impossible not to, for he was as beautiful and kind as ever. I was as helpless to stop loving him as I had been against starting in the first place. "There is nothing to keep me here, my lord. I would not spend my last years pining over what will forever stand just out of reach."

Elrond nodded slowly. "Always are you welcome here; this is your home, as ever Eriador was."

"I thank you again," I replied, and made to step back, but for the second time he laid his mouth on mine in the same chaste way, and again it was a blessing instead of an expression of love. "Go, then," he said when he lifted his head. "Know you have the friendship of Elrond Half-elven and all his house. If you have need of me, I will come."

The tears fell, then; I could not stop them. "I love you," I said, needing to tell him one last time. I hated how my voice wobbled but was unable to prevent it. "I have never stopped."

"I know," he whispered, glancing down at where one of my tears had fallen on his hand. "I will not forget."

Somehow I managed to step away from him, and left his study. I departed Imladris within the week, and was warmly received at the home of my parents. I dismissed my elven guard with thanks and bid them assure their lord of my safe arrival, sure I would be happy here, but almost as soon as they had gone, was struck with how foreign everything felt in this place of Men. Their voices were harsher, their features holding none of the starlight I was accustomed to seeing in the faces of the Eldar. Food, fabric, speech, music: all seemed coarser than I was used to, and once again found myself resigned to a life I did not entirely want, but which must be lived for lack of any alternative.

Years passed. Estel came to see me whenever he could, which was not often enough for my satisfaction. When I asked him about his prospects for wife, his answer remained constant: "I am not yet what I must be." Finally, after pressing for what seemed like eternity, he elaborated and explained all. He loved Arwen, daughter of Elrond, and she loved him in return, but her father would not permit her to wed my son unless he had reclaimed the fullness of his heritage.

My child loved the child of he whom I had loved for half my lifetime, but unlike my situation, his love was returned; the irony was not lost on me. A tide of emotion overcame me: fury that my son, my noble and brave son, would be denied what he so clearly and desperately wanted; on its heels was a surge of jealousy and rage that made me nearly sick with shame.

"And," I made myself say, "how close are you to achieving this goal?"

"Not very," Estel admitted blithely. "But I shall have a long and eventful life; Grandmother has Seen it."

My attention was caught by that. My mother, Ivorwen, had been a prophetess of some renown in her youth but her visions had become less and less until there were none left. For her to have seen this, and told Estel, was surely something of significance. After he had left for yet another adventure, I asked her what she had seen for me.

Her gaze was still keen, even at nearly 4 score of years. "I saw a doomed love that would bring naught but misery on your part," she replied, blunt as ever. "Would you have had me tell you this?"

I would not, and said as much. That was all that was ever discussed of the issue again. More years passed, and first my father, then my mother, died. I was left alone as suzerain of our village, such as it was. Every year came an envoy from Imladris, bearing a letter that spoke of the continued good will of its lord, and every year the envoy returned with two letters in return; one from me as lady and ruler, and one from me as naught but Gilraen. My messages were brief, but always signed the same: "From Gilraen, who loves you."

My interest in living waned with each year, and when my first century approached, I knew there was little point in continuing. Estel continued to journey; he had spent time in service to both Gondor and Rohan, had honed his skills with Elrohir and Elladan until there were none of mortal strain who could best him. He came to see me, and I told him as much.

"But, Mother," he protested, "You have another century yet; ever have I wondered why you did never remarry, for you could have had other children and would not depend on my poor presence all the time." He tried a winning grin, meaning to tease me from my melancholy, but I knew he was genuinely puzzled and concerned.

"I have loved but one all my life," I told my son. "There could be no other for me." He nodded. I knew he thought I meant his father, as I had intended. 

"But you might have loved another, if you had tried," Estel insisted doggedly. I had to smile; that persistence had come from me alone. "Even now, you are still beautiful as I recall you from my youth. There is always hope for more—"

Exhausted at the turn of the conversation, I interrupted him. "I gave Hope to the Dúnedain," I replied, referring to the meaning of his name. "I have kept no hope for myself." It was true; once I laid eyes on Elrond, my fate was sealed, and hope had died. I had served my purpose, that of bringing Aragorn, future king, into the world. I had raised him to be a fine man, a fine king, in spite of what my heart had cried out to do, and now my task was complete. As our forebears had been meant to do, I would accept my mortality and bid a farewell to the life for which I felt no lingering affection.

I felt great anguish knowing that, even after death, Elves and Men were sundered from each other; not even in death would I be able to look upon his beloved face, even from afar. I gave no indication to any but my son of my intentions, and now, I lay down in my bed and blow out the candle for the last time. The dark surrounds me, and I wonder what will happen, if Arathorn and my parents await me, or if their souls have already been set free in the Gift that Eru has given Men. But I do not hope for it, for I spoke truly, yesterday: I have kept no hope for myself— I have given away all that I am. 


End file.
